


joke me something awful just like kisses on the necks of "best friends"

by sweetlyinfinite



Series: things i deserted [6]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Bullying, Fake Marriage, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Harry fake pretends with a girl for maybe 2 seconds, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, M/M, This is DUMB, Unfinished, Violence, only in this one section but i should put it here so i did, unreasonable reasons as to why this comes about
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-18
Updated: 2015-07-18
Packaged: 2018-04-09 21:21:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4364630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetlyinfinite/pseuds/sweetlyinfinite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis blinks and wipes a hand over his cheeks. His nose is still very red. </p><p>Harry smiles softly, causing Louis’ mouth to twitch. “Louis, marry me.”</p><p>Louis coughs out a laugh. His eyes are red, too, but they’re full of hope now. “Okay.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	joke me something awful just like kisses on the necks of "best friends"

**Author's Note:**

> working title was 'this is shit but i wanted harry getting something bc he's hot' and i mean, look where that took me
> 
> title from Fall Out Boy's "I've Got A Dark Alley And A Bad Idea That Says You Should Shut Your Mouth (Summer Song)"  
> because it came on shuffle and it kind of fit
> 
> also!! there is one scene where two boys (oc's) are being beaten by more oc's, it's easy to skip and the language is absolutely foul so, i don't know i contemplated deleting it but idk, sorry/

Harry wants a bottle of Sicilian blood orange juice and he doesn’t have any money to buy himself one. Louis’ with him, as he always is, inside the small shop, and he doesn’t have any money either. Without stealing, there’s only one way to get his drink.

“Louis,” Harry whispers, even though the boy is right next to him.

“Harry,” Louis whispers back, and raises his eyebrows.

“I need you to ask the lad at the counter if he’ll give you some gum.”

Louis looks confused, like this is much harder than surveying ice creams. “Why?”

“Just, like, to scope him out. And, like, flirt with him and stuff so he’ll be all hot and he’ll let me have this drink,” Harry explains, shaking the bottle in Louis’ face, and Louis rolls his eyes.

“Do I have to leave after so it looks like we’re not here together?”

Harry thinks about this and nods. “Sure. Now be free, my love.”

Louis kisses Harry’s cheek wetly, before he steps out of the aisle and Harry watches him sway his hips ever so slightly as he walks (let’s be real here, he struts) to the boy running the shop. The boy looks up and sees Louis, and the boy has blue eyes, blue and bright compared to Louis’ stormy ocean blue.

Harry can't hear what Louis says, but it involves leaning on the counter, laughing and something whispered dark and dirty that makes the boy’s eyes widen. Then, Louis’ leaving, snapping watermelon gum as he goes and shoving a slip of paper in his pocket. Louis doesn’t acknowledge Harry, and then Harry waits a few moments before walking toward the boy.

His eyes aren’t as blue as Harry thought they were, more a navy blue-green. He has soft blond hair and he looks about eighteen, a year younger than Harry.

Harry steps forward, and his voice is low—he’s trying for seductive. “Is there any chance you’d let me have this? Because I left my wallet at home, you see, and I'm so thirsty right now I could drink anything.” He wets his lips with his pink tongue and then bites down on his plump bottom lip as he grins.

The boy he’s talking to blushes and bites his own lip too, eyes fluttering over Harry’s arms and his torso before flicking back up to his _arms_. (There are _tattoos_ there, fuck.) He seems flustered and Harry winks and it’s completely not a comical wink, insinuating a later time with slick skin and filthy kisses and everything else, so when the lad says, “Well, I mean, I suppose,” he sounds faint.

Harry licks his lips again, pointedly staring at the boy’s lips. “Thanks, mate.”

He leaves with a phone number scribbled on his inner forearm and a free bottle of juice.

Outside Louis’ leaning against the wall on his phone, still chewing his gum. Harry takes a moment to admire the curves of Louis’ golden body, before he cracks opens his juice and sips.

It tastes like heaven.

“Oh my god.”

Louis blinks up, and he holds out his hand. “Gimme some, Styles?”

Harry smiles and shakes his head. “Sorry, but no.”

Louis pushes himself away from the wall towards Harry, keeps going until their bodies are pressed against each other and leaving no space for the sun. Louis leans on his tiptoes and whispers into Harry’s ear, “I’ll let you fuck me raw if you give me some.”

Harry swallows and his smile is a grin as Louis steps back. He hands Louis the drink and Louis nods his thanks. Harry laughs. “Is that what you said to the boy in there?”

Louis’ face pinches and he pulls the drink away from his mouth. He coughs as it goes down and says, “Something like that, except I reckoned he bottomed, so I said I’d do him. He was excited, I think.”

Harry nods, accepts this. “Solid.”

“Yeah, was. He give you a number?”

Harry bobs his head again and shoves his arm in Louis’ face. Louis pulls out the number in his pocket and compares, and yes, they're the same phone number. So, Louis smirks. Harry sees and he isn't sure what’s going through Louis’ head so he squints and purses his lips, before deciding he can't see very much that way and changes to a furrowed brow. There; he can see, even if his eyes feel weird when he looks up (he just won’t look up, he doesn’t need to anyway because Louis’ short).

“What?” Harry asks, accidently flicking his eyes up to a bird so he can see the folds of his eyebrows. He goes cross-eyed as he looks at the skin, before his head hurts and he decides with a shrug that maybe squinting works better anyway.

Louis slaps Harry’s arm. “Do you not get it? Don’t be daft, Styles, what can we do with a boy’s phone number?”

“I..don’t,” Harry slowly drawls, and Louis slaps him again in the same spot, so he quickens, “know, Lou! Stop hitting me, you prick.”

“Oh, I’ll hit you with my prick later, whore.”

“Bitch.”

“Slut.”

“Tramp.”

“Tart.”

“Um, prostitute?”

“Ha, minx.”

“Louis can we stop now? I feel like a mother and her child are going to walk past.”

“Yeah, all right.”

Harry smiles, “Thanks man. Right, so what are we doing to this guy?”

Louis gasps, putting his palm over his mouth. He rolls his eyes, removes his hand, then struts back into the small shop. Harry pokes his tongue out to touch his nose while he waits, and when he’s done that he sucks his cheeks in, giving him a fish mouth. He then moves his lips apart then back together, making small wet sounds.

As he’s doing the second one there’s a group of teenage girls who appear to be approaching, only about seventeen, so Harry drops the face and leans against the wall as he’d found Louis. He lets the drink fall to the ground, and he tugs his sunglasses off his shirt and slips them over his eyes.

The girls giggle as they get closer, each step the giggles becoming more prominent until they hush and Harry flicks his eyes over, a small smirk on his lips. They’re all looking at him, except the one on her phone who scowls when her friend nudges her side so she looks up, and then, yeah, they're all looking at him.

It takes about three seconds to figure out what he’s going to do, and then he’s arranging the plan in his head and he thinks Louis would be proud, maybe. When his phone is in his pocket, he tugs his lips between his teeth to make them darker, ruffles his hair in his hands and smooths it to the side. He pushes his sunglasses to rest amongst the new fixed strands, and he smirks fully now, but not so much so he looks like an idiot. Harry still knows (thinks, hopes to fucking god he doesn’t look like a twat) he looks brilliant, if Louis’ words mean anything.

One of the girls creases her eyebrows and picks up her pace, walking ahead of her friends to reach him quite a lot sooner. Her friends look confused but the girl just smiles, waves and says, “Babe! What are you doing in town?”

Harry licks his lips. The girl has olive eyes like his own, a slim figure, white blonde hair with dipped blue ends, wearing a tight Rolling Stones shirt tucked into a black skirt that rests halfway down her thighs, and some form of studded boots. Harry doesn’t know any names further than normal clothing items, he’s not, like, a scientist or whatever.

He smiles and waves back, and when she’s closer she grabs his wrist and tugs him so he’s crowding her against the wall, small but not delicate beneath him. Harry smiles at her, his normal dorky smile, and raises an eyebrow. “Babe? I’m Harry Styles,” he whispers.

She rolls her eyes, smirking up at him with her red-painted lips and pretty grey-green eyes.

“Right, hello darling. I’m Grace, seventeen, moved here from Paris—yes, yes, hush—a few weeks ago and you are my boyfriend for the day Harry Styles.”

Her voice is quiet, dark and gorgeously French. Harry breathes in her floral scent and exhales it like it’s something he doesn’t want to let go of. He hasn’t had a girl in ages, not that he’s going to _have_ her, so to speak, but you must know what he’s trying to get across; he and Louis’ve been friends for nearly a decade now, and despite the occasional urges, male or female, he hasn’t needed or wanted someone permanent in the face of Louis.

Harry laughs, low and gentle, and says, “Yeah?” quietly before nudging his lips against hers.

Grace barely has time to nod before the bell of the shop is ringing and Harry is kissing his way down her jaw. Her skin is too soft, smells too sweet; when he reaches her lips he allows himself to think of a fair he and Louis went to once, swapping food and drinks, and sharing kisses of cotton candy melting between their tongues for a dare. Harry licks her lips, her tongue, her teeth, the walls of her mouth, until Grace is gasping for air, a little unexperienced with breathing through her nose, it would seem.

She wouldn’t be very good at giving head, then.

Harry lets her pull away, twists his head slightly to see Louis sitting by the door, mouth redder than it should be and a smile stretched across his face. Harry thinks he’s still okay. Louis turns his head at the same time and gives Harry a nod and a thumbs up.

Harry dips his head to join their mouths together again, so wet and soft and delicious Grace can't breathe. To her, Harry kisses like he’s been doing it his whole life, like he’s the King of kissing, he’s perfect. Grace herself is a little sloppy, a little hesitant with her tongue and Harry vows to make her better by the end of their two weeks. (Let’s be frank about it, she’d be absolutely _awful_ at giving head.)

Grace flips them, then, so he’s against the wall and Grace is pressing against his body. Her hands are on Harry’s jaw, on her tiptoes, and Harry runs his hands down her sides to stop low on her waist. He realises if he stretches his fingers out a little, his hand could almost cover the span of her waist. That’s insane. She’s really small.

Her friends are all speechless when they pull away again. Harry almost wipes a hand over his mouth to smear the lipstick away, but then Grace uses her own thumb to wipe it away then sticks it in her mouth. Harry looks at the friends. Three of five flutter their eyelashes, blushing heavily, one winks at Harry, and the other, the one on her phone, smiles like she knows how ridiculous this is. Harry wonders why she couldn’t have needed a fake boyfriend.

After Grace’s thumb is clean, she steps back a little so he pulls his shirt up the wipe the rest of the sticky stuff away, and when he hears a gasp and a cough, he realises he’s just pulled his shirt up, obviously. They can see the tattoos on his hips, his chest. Harry winces behind the cover of his shirt, because there’s a reason he doesn’t like girls as much as boys. There’s several, really, but whatever.

Harry pauses with his lower lip caught between his teeth, because this is a stupid idea. Stupid and ridiculous and unfair to Grace’s friends and Grace herself, even though she’s basically using him.

When he deems himself clean he takes Grace’s hand, introduces himself to the group of friends, kisses Grace again, and excuses himself the fuck away.

They all start gossiping hurriedly as they scamper off, hands clutching Grace and bombarding her with questions. Harry sighs, runs a hand through his hair, knocking his sunglasses off. Before he can pick them up, someone already has.

The girl on her phone is there, eyebrows raised and with his sunglasses in her hand. Her spare hand, anyway. She laughs as he takes them back with a thank you, asks, “You aren’t really going out with Grace, are ya?”

Harry coughs, wonders if he should lie. He decides he shouldn’t—well, he doesn’t really decide. Louis does, by bouncing over and smacking a kiss to his face, before twisting to face the teenager. She looks at them and Louis stands proud, beaming as the girl says, “You two look beautiful together. Like, soul mates, or summat.”

Louis laughs, nudges Harry’s hip. “Thank you, but we’re not dating.”

“Don’t have to be to be soul mates,” she shrugs, smiling.

Harry breaks out in a smile then, too. “So, em, yeah. Me and Grace aren’t dating? This is my best mate Louis? She asked me to pretend so I…well, did.”

Louis nods, instead throwing his arm around Harry’s waist, snuggling underneath the arm Harry automatically puts around his shoulders. The girl sighs, eyes flicking to her phone. “I’m gay,” she says plainly, “and you two are the first boys I’ve told. Congratulations. Also, here’s Grace’s number, I think you’ll need it.”

She scribbles it on a tissue from her pocket, hands it to them, and then she’s walking away, after her friends. Louis shrugs and calls out, “Thank you for being a lesbian! I love you!”

She holds her hand up, flipping them off, and Harry yells, “He means thanks for trusting us!”

She waves before there’s a corner and she turns out of their sight. “She was nice.”

Harry pouts before he gets distracted and goes cross-eyed once more to try and see his lips. Once again, all he can see is skin, so he frowns. “You were nice.”

Louis sighs before he perks up considerably. “Hey! Guess what? I went back in to get that guy’s name and he said it was Harry and I was like no way that’s my boy’s name, without even meaning to, and then he starts blushing because he figured I meant boyfriend and was talking about him, like, y’know those stupid pickup lines? Like that, so then he pulls me over the counter and starts to snog me and I couldn’t pull away. Yeah. Weird, I don’t know.”

Harry lifts his frown back to a pout and makes the decision to keep his eyes focused solely on Louis’. Unfortunately, by doing this at such close proximity, Harry’s eyes are zig-zagging wildly from Louis’ left eye to his right, utterly confused as to which eye he should look at and if Louis will be able to see that he’s only looking at one. He steps back, pout falling away, and he widens his eyes for a moment before settling back on Louis. There. “What was ‘is name, then?”

“Harry!” he shouts, and Harry’s back straightens automatically. “Harry, his name is Harry, fucking Harry, Harry. You’re such a deaf twat, Harry.”

“Heeeeyyyyyy, Lou. That’s mean, And, you said Harry ‘bout forty times in that sentence.”

Louis brings his hand up, moving his fingers and mumbling before he glares up at the sky. “Only, like, four,” he sniffs indignantly and Harry raises his eyebrows. They stare at each other for a minute and then Louis relents and says, “Harry, okay, there was six. I'm sorry. You aren’t a twat. Tell me about that girl?”

Harry rolls his eyes, bending over to pick up his juice, which has gone warm, and grabbing for Louis’ wrist with his fingers. Instead of telling Louis about Georgia ( _georgia? shit, that’s not her name is it? is it gretchen? gandalf? what the hell, harry, gandalf, really?_ ) Harry asks what they should do now, considering they have no money. Louis says he knows something they could do to get money, and he winks overdramatically, making Harry smack the back of his head and say, “No, Lou. Absolutely not.”

They end up driving to the town over, where they were headed in the first place, to their old homes. Well, to Harry’s house anyway, because they’re nineteen coming home from Manchester for a week, and Louis’ sisters will annoy the heck out of them. At least, Louis thinks they will, Harry thinks of it as another opportunity to play princesses (he likes that game).

Gemma’s there for a drop in, standing in the foyer to mock Harry’s hair and Louis’ cardi, but she grins at them as she flits past and out the door, saying that she’s off to her ex-boyfriend’s place to show off how great she looks. Louis rolls his eyes and tells her to be safe and Gemma replies with a wink.

Louis likes Gemma.

They spend the afternoon playing video games, until Louis gets called home for a full family dinner and he says they’ll see each other tomorrow.

 

The next day, Harry is woken by a frantic Louis knocking at the door. Anne is making breakfast, Robin off at work, and Anne calls Harry from downstairs. Harry comes bumbling down, and there Louis is, bouncing his foot against the floor from his seat at the kitchen table. His hands are shaking around a mug of tea and Anne is frowning a little.

Harry slumps into his seat at the table, next to Louis, and Louis glances up. There’s fear in his eyes, alongside worry and a little bit of mischief. Harry blinks, rubs at his eyes, whispers, “What are you so nervous about Lou?”

Louis looks at Anne, who is flipping bacon in a pan, and says, a tad too _fucking_ loud, “I told my mum we were engaged.”

Anne nearly drops the tea in her hand. She turns around and Harry looks at Louis. Harry’s eyes are wide and _what the fuck_ ; he tries to convey this feeling in his eyes but Louis isn't looking at him, he’s looking at the surface of his drink. Harry resists the urge to throw the mug, because it’s his. “Louis, I thought we weren’t telling people yet,” he states slowly, putting his hand underneath the table to pinch Louis’ thigh.

Anne’s eyebrows are trying to escape into her hairline and she coughs. Both boys look at her, and she looks conflicted between so many emotions; overjoyed, upset, annoyed, hesitant. “Louis, did you just say that you two are getting married?”

Harry puts a grin on his face, pinches Louis’ thigh a little harder. Louis flinches, unseen by Anne. “Mum, yeah, I mean. Louis and I are engaged, I guess. We weren’t going to tell anyone, because we wanted to keep it to ourselves for a little, but Louis got so excited he told Jay, and now…we’re telling you.”

“Last I knew you were swearing up and down you didn’t love each other, you were just mates,” Anne says, but she’s smiling and there are tears in her eyes. “I’m so proud of you boys, come here.”

And from then, the day is a flurry of things, and they literally don’t have a single moment alone.

 

That night, though, after a celebratory dinner in a restaurant including half the fucking town, they’re able to go back to Harry’s, grab some tea and hide in his old bedroom. This is when the questions begin.

Harry puts his tea down on the nightstand, looks at Louis who’s sitting on his bed. “What the fuck?”

Louis doesn’t move. Harry clenches his hands into fists. “Louis, c’mon, what the fuck? I’m serious, what the fuck. We’re engaged? You just told your mum that we’re _engaged_? Like, whoops, sorry, it slipped out that we’re getting married. You, just, I mean, _Louis_.”

Louis places his tea down too and looks up at Harry. There are tears in his eyes and Harry feels fucking terrible. Louis stands up, wipes at his eyes. “Mark…we were having breakfast and Mark was being a dick, was saying that I wasn’t doing anything with my life and was I even planning on going to uni anymore and what the fuck was I doing, and I got really mad and it came out because you were the first thing I thought of and I don’t…”

The tears are streaming down his face and he chokes off, and Harry rushes forward to envelop Louis. He hushes him and Louis starts sobbing lightly, saying, “I know it’s stupid and we can just tell people I was lying because I wanted you, or something, and you played along because you’re the nicest person and—”

Harry shakes his head, squeezing tighter and letting Louis bury his face into the crook of his neck. He shushes Louis, kisses his neck soothingly. “Lou, it’s fine, it’s okay. We’re fine, I don’t care, I just wanted to know why, love. Mark’s not nice, Louis, you’re going wonderfully, we’re both adjusting to life in Manchester still. I love you, come on Louis, breathe.”

Louis breathes the scent of Harry’s hair, apricot and sugar, and it calms him slightly. He still lets his tears stain Harry’s sweater, the sweater he has a matching one to, because Harry is warm and lovely and too, too kind to Louis.

They stay that way for an indistinguishable amount of time, Louis’ tears slowing until they aren’t there anymore, all that remains of them are the tear tracks and Louis’ red eyes and nose. Not once does Harry think of pulling away or of telling Louis no, because if his step-father is satisfied by them getting married then what good would it do Louis to announce that they were lying, even if just for a day?

Eventually, Louis pulls away, sniffing wetly. “Harry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. Really, I think you should say that you were too nice to tell me—”

And, okay, usually Harry doesn’t cut Louis off much but he’s already done it once, so, “Louis! It’s fine. Really,” he breathes, reaching out to tilt Louis’ head up so he can look into his eyes, and it takes a lot to say, “we can get married, it’s okay. We can divorce anyway, it doesn’t matter. If there was anyone I could choose to marry, I’d choose you, Lou. I’d choose you. I love you, we can get married. It’ll be beautiful, an autumn wedding, a summer wedding, it doesn’t matter. I don’t care, Louis, please breathe and listen.”

Louis blinks and wipes a hand over his cheeks. His nose is still very red.

Harry smiles softly, causing Louis’ mouth to twitch. “Louis, marry me.”

Louis coughs out a laugh. His eyes are red, too, but they’re full of hope now. “Okay.”

 

They come up with a story; four months after starting their last year of high school they were studying in Harry’s room and they were wrestling on Harry’s bed, knocking off books and pencils and pieces of paper as they went, then they stopped and Harry leant down and kissed Louis, and since then they’ve been together and in love. They didn’t tell anybody because at first they were afraid and then they wanted to keep it for themselves. Louis proposed the first night in their shitty flat in Manchester, after cooking for Harry for the first time. This time they were going to keep it to themselves because they thought the families would be mad they hadn’t been told sooner. Except, it’s only been a month since Harry and Louis moved to Manchester, so it really hasn’t been that long.

Anne and Jay take the story well, as well as two mothers who have been watching their sons grow up together can. They clutch each other excitedly, before Jay snaps her fingers and turns to Anne. “Tell Robin he owes me twenty pounds.”

Anne laughs, delighted, while Harry looks down at his and Louis’ entwined fingers with a blank mind. “Jay, remind Lottie then she owes me ten.”

Jay smiles largely. “I’ll need to give Gem thirty pounds, too. Or was it forty?”

Louis makes an indignant noise, gripping Harry’s fingers tighter. “Mum! You bet Gemma _forty pounds_ that we’d be together?”

“Well, love, no, I thought you’d say something near the end of the year, but Gemma said before halfway in, so she wins.”

Anne adds, “And Lottie said next month, and I said the month you moved in. I’m fairly sure Robin said the end of high school, yes Jay?”

Jay nods, to which Harry looks up. Jay smiles fondly at him. “I made the bet with Gem at the end of last year, when you two were snuggling on the sofa and we were in the kitchen, and I made the one with Robin…the fourth year of high school for you two? He was convinced and I said any time after school. Relax, Louis! I only end up giving twenty pounds away; it’s like you’re a mum worried about paying off her house and every cent counts.”

Harry snorts because Louis is exactly the same with their rent. No wasting money on stupid things until they had the rent payed, even though Anne and Jay are paying for the first three months, half of the next two, before they were on their own. So, honestly, they don’t even need to save rent money, but Louis does for the coming months.

He’ll make a good husband.

Louis slaps his arm for snorting, moving away from the table to start the kettle.

 

Now that they’re ‘together’ it’s been decided that they both stay at Anne’s, which is considerably less filled with young girls, for a bit until most everything for their wedding is sorted as they want right now and they go back to Manchester. It could range from two weeks to four months, knowing their parents, but Louis isn't complaining.

The first night they spend at Harry’s, Louis pauses just before bed. He’s wearing stripy blue boxers and a stolen pair of Harry’s socks, and Harry has removed his pants. Louis glances at Harry hesitantly, and Harry raises his eyebrows before he cackles when he realises what’s going on.

“Look, Lou, we’ve shared a bed before, we’ve shared when we’re both naked, so just because we’re now engaged it doesn’t mean we’re gonna end up fucking in our sleep.” Louis blushes, completely unlike himself, and Harry continues, “Bro dude pal, lad, mate, whatever heterosexual best friends call each other, despite the fact that we’re both bi; no homo.”

Louis’ blush fades and he groans flopping onto the bed. “Shut up.”

Louis hates the whole ‘no homo’ because christ, yes, hugging your male friend when you’re also a male certainly means _homo_. Obviously, it’s merely a term made for confused ‘straight’ people who are having ‘thoughts’ about a gender the same as they identify with.

Harry rolls his eyes and slips in after Louis. “Ilysm, baby,” he coos.

This makes Louis laugh, loud and contagious, so Harry starts to laugh as well. Until Anne shouts, “Loves, I know you’re happy and all, but we’d like to sleep!” and then they shush.

Louis breathes switches off his lamp that had been illuminating the room, so the room is washed with pure darkness before his eyes adjust. “Sorry Haz. It’s just, like, I don’t know. Doesn’t really matter now, I suppose. Night.”

“G’night baby.”

And it seems that Harry doesn’t even mean to say it.

 

In the morning Harry wakes up with Louis’ thick thigh nudging against his cock and has to remove himself and bound to the shower quickly before anyone can see him.

 

Later on Louis says Lottie wants to meet up with him to chat about _things_ , which means Harry isn't invited. It’s cool, Harry’s fine with it, considering he and his own sister have moments where they like to talk to only each other about certain things.

Harry goes out instead, stopping by the pub where he runs into Will and spends an hour talking to him about his new life in Manchester, new mates and jobs and all the boring stuff, also about Louis because in Holmes Chapel you’d have to be living under a very large rock not to have heard by now.

After Harry’s said goodbye and gotten Will’s new phone number, he leaves on the notion he’s going to stop by the bakery to pick up a muffin and see the women who he used to work with. He dawdles down the street for a while, not doing anything much. He takes his phone out of his pocket, thumbs through old texts as he walks.

When he’s rounded a corner he comes upon a disgusting sight. It’s of four tall male teenagers, probably sixteen or seventeen, all looking like they spend quite a bit of time working out. Harry’s taller, his muscles are more defined, and he puts his phone back into his pocket.

There are two younger boys on the ground, maybe fourteen, and they’re bloody and beginning to bruise. Two of the elder teens are kicking either boy, another is punching one’s stomach and the last is filming on his phone. The two boys are yelping, grunting, one is crying, and Harry is horrified.

“You little fags, what the fuck are you doing walking ‘round here? Go _fuck_ ,” the emphasis is here based on the fact the boy places a particularly rough kick to someone’s ribs and he’s grunting, like it’s _hard_ _work_ voluntarily hurting someone, “each other somewhere else, fairies.”

Then Harry’s walking toward them, a frown staining his features. He recognises two of the older ones, the one filming and one kicking, and he says, “Hey, guys, fuck _off_. Okay? Leave these two people alone, you don’t need to be here and I'm sure they weren’t doing anything.”

Their heads snap up, all four of them, and the teenager with the phone out flips it up to face Harry. They sneer before, rather hilariously, all their faces go blank with recognition. Harry raises his eyebrows and the leader takes control of the situation.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Styles. We all know you’re fucking that princess, Louis Tomlinson. Fuckin’ twink.”

It takes Harry a moment to realise what he said is what he _actually said_ , because before they moved to Manchester, only a few months ago when they were at school, no one would’ve said a thing like that. Louis was worshipped and Louis and Harry were _HarryandLouis_ , so by extension Harry was worshipped too.

It doesn’t matter anymore, not really, and it sounds like the boy is dealing with internalised homophobia if the gross pleasure he’s conveying means anything. So Harry rolls his eyes and replies, “So? What’s wrong with having a beautiful guy to fuck when I get home when you obnoxious pricks probably haven’t even fucked a girl yet? Louis’ gorgeous, he’s got a fantastic bum, a _big fucking dick_ he uses to fuck _me_ with, he cooks dinner for me and he’s still up for a good fucking _homo blowjob_ after we eat. Louis’ perfect, and what’ve you arses got? _Hands_? Dogs?”

It doesn’t matter that he’s lying about most of it; Louis is gorgeous and he does have a fantastic arse, but he doesn’t cook dinner, unless beans on blackened toast with a side of too golden brown smiley face potatoes cooked in the oven counts.

A boy on the ground whimpers, and the guy with his phone out puts it away. They’re all speechless, and someone nudges someone who says something Harry doesn’t listen to and then they’re ‘swaggering’ away, trousers riding _too fucking low_ on their hips so Harry just want to yank them up so their pants aren’t showing.

Harry rushes forward and kneels on the pavement, checking quickly for pulses (he’s worried, okay?) before the more conscious of the two rasps, “Thanks, mate, I appreciate it. We’re fine, we’ve ‘ad worse. Just help me up and get him home?”

So Harry does, and he doesn’t get a muffin after all.

 

He tells Louis when Louis gets back from his mother’s house, and Louis is so appalled that he goes to one of the elder teen’s houses and tells his parents that their son is beating children for liking the same gender and they, thankfully, are also appalled. They promise Louis they’ll inform the other parents and let their son know that what he’s done is _not fucking okay_ and illegal, and Louis leaves a lot happier.

 

The video ends up on YouTube and in turn Facebook.

Louis laughs when Harry speaks, especially hard at _homo blowjob_ , and Harry’s a little surprised to see himself hissing out dirty words and not in a fun way.

If their family sees it no one says anything, except maybe when Gemma tweets ‘ _Dogs?_ ’ and Lottie high fives Harry when he drops by their place for lunch.

Niall calls though and he spends the entire call heaving out laughter. Liam sends a disappointed emoji but then a few ha’s and a _way 2 go hazzzzz_. Zayn says nothing as well.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to contact me at seasideghoul.tumblr.com if you either want to chat or you want to use this? anything I post in this series is available for the taking and/or modifying if you like, just talk to me first. otherwise, thanks for getting to the end


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